Ending It
by Miggy not Fax
Summary: Dean chuckled bitterly as he looked at his brother through hate filled yellow eyes. "For all these years, did you honestly think that you were so special? Ol' Yellow Eyes bled into you one night. He bled into me every night from the time I was a few months old until Mom died. I'm stronger than you will ever be, with any amount of demon blood."


**Secrets**

Dean chuckled bitterly as he looked at his brother through hate filled yellow eyes. "For all these years, did you honestly think that you were so special?" he asked. Without even making a physical movement, he had Sam against the wall.

"How are you… so… strong?" Sam barely managed to say. Dean had not only gotten him against the wall without a physical movement, but he was holding Sam against the wall so tight, that Sam could only suck in small, fleeting breaths.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean said, shaking his head. "Everyone always said you were the smart one. Ol' yellow eyes bled into you one night. He bled into me every night, from the time I was a few months old until mom died. I'm stronger than you will ever be, with any amount of demon blood."

"Yes, you are," Azazel said, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. Lightning flashed and for a second, Sam wasn't seeing his six foot tall brother. It was still Dean, but he only looked about three or four. "I'm proud of you." The young Dean beamed before the thunder rolled around and adult Dean was back.

"Dean…" Sam wheezed. There was another bolt of lightning and child Dean was back, staying slightly longer this time.

"If I do what you say, you'll let me be happy?" he asked Azazel, sounding like a child.

"Dean…" Sam wheezed again.

"Quiet," Azazel said and the pressure on his chest increased. "You're the one who made poor Dean such a sad child. Plenty of hunters have children, Dean could have been almost normal if it hadn't been for you. He could have eaten his meals instead of telling you that he got stomachaches if there wasn't enough food in your stomach. He could have gone to sleep instead of keeping watch over you. He wouldn't have been put in foster care if you hadn't attracted your teacher's attention. If there was no Sammy, he could have excelled in school instead of hiding."

The next time, child Dean was there for several seconds. Sam was gasping for breath as he looked into the sad green eyes, mourning for a childhood he had never had. "How… has he… tricked you?" Sam asked.

"I want to be happy," Dean said as another round of the lightning and thunder rolled around. This time, he stayed a child and Sam saw Azazel beam.

"End it," the demon whispered.

The blond child in front of him held up his left hand. "Good-bye, Sammy," he said, before curling his fingers. But he stopped just before his fingers made a fist, and Sam sighed with relief best he could when his chest was still being crushed. "I don't want to end him yet," he said. The corners of Azazel's lips tweaked downwards, but he perked up at the word yet.

"I want him to see what he did to me when we were kids," the little Dean said. "I want him to watch me grow up happy and hear your plans for me. Then, I'll end him.

"Okay, Dean," he said. "We can do that."

Dean closed his fist.

* * *

Sam was in the old house, the house where his mother had died. He looked around the hallway he was in and noticed light coming from under a door. Carefully, he pushed the door open and saw his four year old brother in blue checkered pajamas, sitting next to Azazel on his small bed.

"Dean?" Sam said, but the little boy didn't appear to be able to hear him. Realizing that he was in one of Dean's memories, Sam quietly leaned against the wall to watch it play out.

"I brought you a surprise to practice on," Azazel said. Dean peered at the demon curiously from behind bright green eyes. From his pocket, Azazel withdrew a fat, squirming hamster. Dean's eyes lit up with excitement and Azazel chuckled. "Ready for your snack?" Dean nodded and Azazel put the hamster back into his pocket. The yellow eyed demon withdrew a knife and made a long cut across his forearm. Sam watched in horror as the towheaded child happily ingested the demon's blood. When he was done, the previously green eyes were black.

"I'm ready now," Dean said and Azaze brought the rodent back out and placed it on Dean's blanket. With a look of uncanny concentration, Dean slowly made the squealing creature float in the middle of his bedroom. A small hand was extended and slowly began to close, as it had with Sam when he was pinned to the wall. As soon as his hand closed, the hamster exploded and Dean giggled sadistically. Azazel tousled his hair like a proud father.

"The big man is very proud, Dean," Azazel said, and Sam wondered who he was talking about.

"When do I get to meet him?" Dean asked.

"Someday," Azazel assured him. "But for now, I think that your brother is old enough for one of my special snacks." Dean scowled. "Relax, he's just going to be another soldier. You'll be the leader." Azazel stood, and Dean's black eye's tracked him as he entered the hallway.

Sam tried to follow Azazel into the hallway, but for several seconds he was held back until Dean's little body slid off of his bed and he made his way into the hall. When Sam saw into his nursery, Mary was already on the ceiling and let out an ear-piercing scream. Dean didn't move from his spot in the doorframe, but he was pushed aside as John entered the room.

Soon, Dean's arms were filled with a chubby baby, and he was sent out of the house. Sam could only watch as the next three years of his and Dean's life were fast-forwarded. It was full of a small Dean trying to take care of an infant and once Sam reached three, he saw his earliest memory through Dean's eyes.

"Please eat it, Sammy," Dean begged, holding out the food.

"No," toddler Sam refused, slapping Dean's painfully thin fingers away with a chubby hand. Sam remembered how he used to enjoy refusing to eat the occasional meal, because Dad didn't allow Dean to eat unless Sam had eaten and was full.

"Please," Dean begged, hands shaking. "Just some of it, Sammy."

Sam's chubby face was filled with a wicked smile. "No," he said, and toddled away. Sam could also remember a few occasions when he had refused to eat and Dean had finally gone ahead and eaten without him. When Dad got home, Dean would be nursing a black eye or a split lip.

"What type of sick kid was I?" Sam whispered. "I starved my brother for entertainment."

Suddenly, Sam was alone in an empty white room with Azazel. "I get it," Sam said to the demon. "I was a sick little kid, but I stopped doing that by the time I was four."

"Exactly," Azazel said. "When you were four you discovered a new way to torture your brother."

Just as suddenly as before, Azazel was gone and Sam recognized the new building he was in as Bobby's house. "Sam, I can't play with you right now," young Dean said, and Sam decided he looked about eight. "Uncle Bobby and Dad are working so I have to go make dinner."

"I want you to play with me," Sam said angrily. Dean shook his head.

"Sorry, Sammy," he said. "I've got to go make you some dinner."

Dean started walking towards the stairs and little Sam followed. As Dean lifted a foot to place it on the top stair, Sam shoved with all his might and Dean went toppling down. There was a loud crack, and Dean lay still at the bottom for several seconds. As he slowly stood, he head was lying on his shoulder at an odd angel. Sam remember this, and when he was young he hadn't really understood what he had done, but now as he watched eight year old Dean grab his own head and straighten his neck with a painful crack, Sam realized he had snapped Dean's neck. How had this not killed his brother?

"I can't play with you right now, Sammy," Dean said before turning and fleeing down to the kitchen. The last part of the memory Sam heard was the thump of little Sam angrily kicking the wall, and leaving a black mark that Dean would later scrub away.

There was another jumble of fast-forwarded memories, and Dean's dangerously thin arms soon became littered with cuts, scraps, bruises, and worst of all; burns. Sam remembered himself whacking Dean whenever he was cooking so that the blond boy would cry out in pain as his arms smacked the stove. His teachers worried and it wasn't long before one sent a note home with Dean requesting that John come in for a meeting.

So one day after school, Dean remained in the classroom, silently working on his homework and ignoring the teacher's attempts to talk to him. Fifteen minutes later, John arrived with Sam in tote. "What has he done this time?" he asked immediately, sitting down in the chair the teacher indicated.

"Dean hasn't done anything wrong, Mr. Winchester," the fourth grade teacher said. "Other than the occasional interruption in class, Dean is an excellent student. What I wanted to talk to you about was the numerous… injuries Dean has been coming to class with. Dean, if you would please take of your jacket."

Dean glanced at his father for approval and John gave a slight nod. Dean pulled off the hoodie to show his arms, which had numerous burns and bruised pinch marks. "Mr. Winchester," Dean's teacher said. "Unless you can give me a logical explanation, I'm going to call child protection services."

"Dean likes to cook," John hurried to say, not noticing as Dean glanced at Sam. "He burns himself by accident sometimes. And he takes a self-defense class. He's good at it, so he works with older kids usually and sometimes they get carried away."

"Dean, is this true?" the dark haired woman asked her pupil. Dean nodded.

"I'm really sorry to have worried you for nothing, ma'am," he apologized.

"Well I'm sorry to have kept you three," the teacher said, standing and reaching across her desk to shake hands with John. "I hope you have a good afternoon."

The Winchesters hurried to leave and John scowled at Dean as they walked to the Impala. "I thought you knew better than to draw attention to us like that," he growled.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered.

"Sorry?" John roared, rounding on his son as they stood in the far corner of the parking lot. "She almost called CPS! If it wasn't for me, you and your brother would be in foster care right now and I would be in jail. Is that what you want, Dean?"

"N-No, sir," Dean stuttered. "I'm sorry."

John's fist came out of nowhere, colliding noisily with Dean's cheek. Dean bit his lip, but didn't say a word. "Don't stutter, Dean. You're a soldier, not a stupid stuttering baby."

"Yes sir," Dean whispered, not sure if John could even hear him. "I'm sorry, sir, so sorry."

"What's the point of this?" Sam growled at Azazel. Once again, they were alone in the colorless, doorless room. "I already know I was a messed up kid."

Azazel tsked softly and shook his head. "You're still thinking about what you want, Sammy," he said disapprovingly. "Your brother wants you to see this."

Sam opened his mouth to question the demon, but Azazel snapped and Sam was in another of Dean's memories. This time Dean looked around eleven, and Sam was relieved that Azazel had skipped over a few years of memories.

"I hate you!" Sam heard his seven year old self scream before storming out of the bedroom he and Dean were sharing at Bobby's. As the door slammed shut, Dean dropped himself on to the mattress and drew his knees to his chest. Thin arms wrapped around his head and Sam could make our finger shaped bruises on his wrists along with scars, scrapes, cuts, bruises, and burns he had, just like the last memory.

In this memory, nothing else was said. Sam just watched helplessly as an eleven year old cried and cried and cried as if his heart was breaking.

* * *

"I'm leaving and there's nothing you can do about it!" eighteen year old Sam Winchester screamed at his father.

"If you leave now, don't you ever come back!" Josh thundered as Sam strode towards the door.

"Sam," Dean said, his voice panicked. "Calm down, Sammy. You're not leaving us, are you?"

"Yes, I am, Dean," Sam said as he yanked the door open.

"You're not leaving me, are you?" Dean practically begged. "Please, Sammy. I never left you. You can't leave me."

"Goodbye, Dean" Sam said and strode down the hallway

"Sammy, please!" Dean said. "Please, Sammy, don't leave!"

Young Sam just kept walking, ignoring his brother's pleas. Dean sank down against the wall and shoved his hands through his hair, pulling at it and clenching his eyes closed. "Goodbye, baby brother," Dean whispered. He hands sank into his pockets and touch the piece of paper he'd been carrying in the pocket of his leather jacket for the past four years. It used to be something he prided himself on, but now he felt like it was mocking him. As he pulled it out to stare at it numbly, Sam managed to read the first line of words.

_Dear Mr. Dean Winchester,_

_The Massachusetts Institute of Technology would be pleased to have you with us this fall._

Sam screamed with rage and punched the wall, fist colliding but doing no damage. Dean had been accepted to one of the best colleges in the country and he couldn't pretend he didn't know why his brother hadn't gone. "What do you want me to do?" he yelled. "How am I supposed to fix this? I destroyed Dean's life when I was a kid and I hate myself for it."

"Good," Azazel said from behind Sam. Sam whirled around to face him and Azazel pulled them both from the memory.


End file.
